Jessi’s announcement that she wanted to be my slave for New Year’s Day, and perhaps for more of the new year as well, was followed by an awkward silence that, I admit, was mostly my own doing. Three different perspectives on the issue collided in my head as we sat in the chair in my living room, the twenty-year-old blonde – still in her cat costume – perched on my lap and staring at me.
The first perspective, which I identified with my conscience, warned against pursuing this new line of play. This, I rationally understood, would be the objectively wisest course given what I knew about Jessi and her difficulties regarding reconciling her feelings with her sexual urges. The second perspective was more willing to give this new game a try, but it included some concern that it was quite a leap to go from light spanking, mildly rough sex, and suggestive commands to being the master of a love slave. The third perspective I considered was that if we were to do this, I really needed to take control and push the envelope a bit. To my surprise, with minimal inner dialogue I quickly resolved to go with this third perspective and to push things. One reason for this was that while sex with Jessi was always incredible, I was beginning to understand it was also predictable.
As I looked back over my encounters with my younger lover, I could not deny that, except for our second encounter, which was very different from the others in many ways, we more or less did the same thing each time, just with different window dressing. Even the pussy cat thing had just been a new, and admittedly very exciting, framework for the same basic things we had done before – Jessi showing off/revealing herself either naked or provocatively clothed; fellatio to my climax; and then sex on the floor with me taking the young blonde woman from behind. Sure we had mixed that pattern up a little bit from one time to the next, but the basic pattern itself held. Further, even though what followed the initial activities had been more variable, there were a couple of recurring patterns involved there as well: the first was sex in bed, either face to face or Jessi on top; the second involved me picking her up and tossing her on a bed so I could perform cunnilingus on her, which was something that we had done three times in just a handful of encounters. If we were going to go down a new path, I wanted it to actually be new.
“Mark, what are you…?” Jessi started to ask after I had been silent for some time.
I cut off her question by grabbing a fistful of her blonde hair and aggressively kissing her. The young woman sitting on my lap moaned and wiggled as I held the kiss. When I was done, I used her hair to pull her face away from mine as I stared into her lust filled eyes. Jessi, her lips trembling, seemed to be on the verge of speaking, but no words came forth.
Finally, she dropped her eyes and in a quiet voice asked, “Should I go change?”
“No,” I replied, putting an edge to my voice. “We are not doing this the same way. There will be no modeling of your collar and cuffs like it is a slutty fashion show.”
Jessi glanced up quickly, bit her lower lip, and then looked down again. She did not speak.
“Get up and stand in front of me!” I commanded.
The young woman hesitated for a half a second, and then she jumped up and stood facing me.
“Before we start this, are you sure about doing it?” I asked her.
“Yes, Mark,” she breathed.
I stood up, grabbed her hair, pulled it back so she was forced to look up at me, and told her, “If I ask you a question, you reply ‘Yes, Master’ or ‘No, Master’ unless I have commanded you to do otherwise. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Master,” Jessi whispered, her whole body now trembling.
“Much better,” I responded. “You are not going to forget that, are you?”
“No, Master!” she answered.
“Now, go and get the collars you brought,” I instructed. “I will decide which one you will wear.”
Jessi stood there a heartbeat before running to my bedroom. While she was gone, I went to my home office and retrieved the whip and the cuff sets she had given me for Christmas. When I returned with them in hand, Jessi was standing before the chair in which I had been sitting, a collar in each hand.
Walking up behind her, I said, “Turn to face me,” and the slender blonde instantly complied.
“Show me the collars,” I commanded, and she held them both up.
The collar in her left hand was the thin, black leather collar with the word ‘SLUT’ spelled out on it with metal studs. The collar in her right hand was also black leather, but it was very different from the first one. The collar she had worn before was more like a choker, the band maybe an inch think. The new collar was much more substantial – the band of it looked to be two or two and half inches thick, and instead of a word spelled out in metal studs, it was adorned with three heavy looking rings, one in the front and the other two on either side. And whereas the thinner collar had a small, delicate buckle, the heavier collar fastened with a metal buckle that would have looked at home on a large belt. Finally, the larger collar was even further set apart from the smaller one by a black leather leash clipped to the front ring.
“Put the ‘SLUT’ collar on the chair,” I ordered, and the blonde immediately did so.
“Good girl,” I praised her. “Now give me the other one.”
She gave me the heavier collar, which I then placed on my coffee table, along with both pairs of cuffs.
“Strip!” I ordered, now that her hands were free.
Jessi did not hesitate at all. She did have some problems undoing the corset of the cat costume, likely due to the fact her hands were shaking as she tried to reach behind her to unhook it. As I watched her struggle, my first impulse was to help, but I realized that was not what I should do given our roles.
Instead, I barked, “Get it off now! If you do not, I will use this whip on you!”
The young woman looked at the whip in my hand, then frantically pulled the corset apart and tossed it aside. Next, she unhooked the belt that held up her skirt and tail and let the whole assembly fall to the floor. Now dressed only in her fishnet stockings and her 5” high heels, Jessi stepped away from her skirt and stood in front of me with her arms to her sides.
“All of it, slut,” I growled.
“Y… y… yes, Master,” she stuttered, before kicking off her shoes and peeling off the stocking from each of her legs.
I walked around her as she stood there in my living room, completely naked. I commanded her to raise up on her toes and put her arms up over her head, as if she were about to dive into a pool. The blonde complied without hesitation, and I marveled at the way her legs and buttocks grew taught as she stood on her tip-toes, and how her perfectly her breasts were raised and displayed when she put her arms up.
“You are a very beautiful slave,” I told her, and I saw her cheeks redden.
“You will need a name,” I continued. “It should be something that represents who you are, don’t you think?”
